Soft Living
by eystetec
Summary: Life at the Joestar's is so blessed. So blessedly disgusting.


One of Dio's new favorite things about living at the Joestar household is bathing. Having a servant draw up a nice, long bath for him in the huge bathtub- it's such a disgustingly luxurious thing. Many things are, at the Joestar manor.

It takes a while for the bath to be prepared after he asks a servant to get to it. It takes so long that he's able to find a book off of the shelves of his room and read well through the first chapter. Just as he was getting impatient, the maid comes by his door and tells him that the bath has been readied.

"About time." He says brusquely, and the maid makes a hurried apology before scurrying off.

His mother told him a long time ago -when he was very young- that the rich could afford to have warm baths whenever they pleased. They had many servants who could be called upon at any time to serve their many whims, and that includes doing the arduous task of heating water in a basin before taking it in buckets to the bathing tub, if the members of the household so wished.

He remembers thinking that it was so silly, so unnecessary. He also remembers feeling jealousy at the thought of having servants, at the thought of having delicious food available always, at all of his mother's detailed and lofty descriptions of the affluent life. She spun them into stories and dreamlike accounts that both delighted Dio and filled him with dreams to one day live like that, with his mother and their own servants and all the food he could possibly want.

Later, he realized that she might have been citing these descriptions from personal memory. Considering her level of education and manners, it became all the more likely that she might have been born into wealth.

His father never mentioned anything about Dio's mother, only speaking her name when it came time to sell her possessions. Come to think of it, he never mentioned his connection with the Joestars till the day he died. Filthy bastard. As if ensuring that Dio would go on to live with the Joestars after he died could make all of his sins against him disappear. As if his father had ever cared about him as anything more than a worker to beat for money and alcohol. Doing something so benevolent as the last act of his life was more hateful than all of the abuse he had committed to Dio.

But now, none of that is important. He's no longer society's scum. No, now he has the luxury of being able to order servants to toil on a whim. The patron of the house, George Joestar had ordered the servants to give him the same treatment as his own son. With a few words, he can have almost whatever he wants, when he wants it.

The lingering thought that all of this newfound power came from the actions of his father is swept away by the intoxicating feeling of authority.

Dio works his clothes off, loosening his tie and easing his suspenders off his shoulders. He unbuttons his shirt and drops it on the floor. His trousers fall easily with a push without the suspenders keeping them up.

The water is at a pleasantly hot temperature when Dio checks it with his fingers. He lowers his body into the tub, one leg in first. The level of water in the tub rises, not reaching high enough to start spilling but high enough to cover the tops of Dio's knees as he relaxes his body. The feeling of warmth is so satisfying that he closes his eyes and hums for a few minutes, thinking nothing but idle thoughts.

After he's settled long enough, Dio reaches over the side of the tub to grab the soap, working a small lather into his hands before he returns it next to the scrubbing brush.

Dio starts with his face, using his hands to work the soap into his skin. He runs lathered-up hands through his hair, reclining back into the water for a moment so he can wet all of his hair. His hands stop at his neck, running trails of dripping soapy water down his cheeks and jawline and down the back of his head. The slippery skin of his neck is easy to massage when it's all soaped up and wet. Dio closes his eyes and from his neck he works down his collar bone and his shoulders, working the flesh deep enough to provoke a pleased noise out of his lips.

As he moves his hands in front of him, he stops and brings them closer to his face to inspect. Dio's hands aren't soft or nice looking at all- nothing like the perfect hands of the patron of the mansion and his heir. Jonathan Joestar. _His_ hands look smooth and healthy. They don't just look smooth and soft- they are.

Dio's own are rough and callused and could only belong to someone who's had to do physical labor for their money. A rush of rage runs through Dio as he thinks of such imperfections being forced upon his body, all a result of being forced into working to pay off his shit father's debts and bar tabs. Bruises used to defile his skin in much the same way, but they've since faded along with the life of his scummy father.

Water splashes as Dio abruptly dunks his head in the tub. He has to remind himself, it doesn't serve him any good to think of the shit he used to have to deal with when he's now living in the lap of luxury. Having seething anger has never helped him one bit and it certainly won't help here, where he's going to have to play the part of a good little rich boy until all of his plans succeed.

After a moment of silence underwater, he rises again to grab the bar of soap and the scrubbing brush off of the side-table. He rubs the soap onto the scrubber and when it's gathered enough for a good lather he sets the soap back.

The brush isn't very abrasive on his slick skin, though he does put extra effort into scrubbing hard enough to scour any dirt or dust left on him. The water takes on a much more slippery condition as soap runs down his body.

When his soap-slicked hands begin to reach his thighs he considers relieving some extra tension. He could certainly use it and the thought of leaving the servants to deal with it amuses him, but the water's already cooled to uncomfortably lukewarm.

Dio steps out of the bathtub and quickly grabs a towel.

* * *

The Joestars themselves don't find the same value in their luxury, he thinks idly. Of course they don't. They were born to this blessed, no-work life, and anything less would be strange to them.

They have at least three meals a day, supper and snacks. And all of the food is of the highest quality possible.

And so Dio finds himself suddenly choking back bitter bile in his throat one night at the dinner table. It's not due to bad food- the half-chewed slice of beef roast resting on his tongue is delicious, there's no doubt. No, Dio can feel an ugly feeling rising up inside him again.

No doubt, anyone who lives here would never go hungry.

It's disgusting, seeing these spoiled people. It's disgusting, how luxurious their lives are and the young heir Jonathan still complains and 'suffers' over things like being sent to bed early from a meal, or his father being just the slightest bit hard on him.

And yet, Dio finds himself drawn into it all. All the luxury and niceties of the Joestar life. He's always envied the rich life and now he gets to live it every day. His mind says, _This is what I deserve_. _I had to go through hell and I had to work until my hands were bloodied and I had to learn to cheat off of others well enough that I wouldn't get caught and I had to search for a clean, imperceptible way to kill off my monster of a father. This is my prize. This is the life that I worked so hard towards._


End file.
